Madame de la Trave contemplated calling in an eminent consultant but did not want to hurt the doctor’s feelings as he was an old friend; besides, Thérèse was afraid of giving Bernard a shock. Still, about the middle of August, after a more than usually alarming attack, Pédemay of his own accord asked for a second opinion; fortunately, on the very next day Bernard was better: and three weeks later they were talking of convalescence.
“A fortunate escape,” said Pédemay. “If there had been time to call in the great man, he would have got all the credit for the case.”
Bernard had himself taken to Argelouse, in the conviction that the pigeon-shooting would cure him. Thérèse was much exhausted about this time: Aunt Clara was in bed with an acute attack of rheumatism: two invalids and one child to look after, not to mention all Aunt Clara’s various avocations that had to be attended to. Thérèse took particular care to see that the Argelouse poor did not suffer from the aunt’s illness. She went around to all the farms, and, just as her aunt did, saw that all the prescriptions were made up, and paid for the medicines out of her own pocket. It did not occur to her to be depressed because the Vilméja farm was shut. She thought no more of Azévédo, nor of any one at all. She was travelling alone through a tunnel at lightning speed, and she was at the darkest point. She must not think: she must dash, like an animal, through the darkness and smoke and get out into the free air once more.
At the beginning of December Bernard was again laid up with the same complaint: one morning he awoke shivering, his legs lifeless and cold. Ah, what happened then! A consultant fetched one evening from Bordeaux by Monsieur de la Trave: his long silence after he had examined the sick man (Thérèse held the lamp and Balionte still remembers that she looked whiter than the sheets): on the dim landing, Pédemay, lowering his voice in case Thérèse might be listening, explaining to his colleague that Darquey the chemist, had shown him two of his prescriptions falsified: on the first a criminal hand had added: Fowler drops; on the other appeared fairly large doses of chloroform, digitaline and aconitine. Balion had brought them to the pharmacy together with many others. Darquey, in a panic at having sent out these poisons, rushed round the next day to see Pédemay.... Yes, Bernard knew all this as well as Thérèse herself. He had been hurriedly conveyed in an ambulance to a nursing-home at Bordeaux: and from that day he had begun to get well. Thérèse had remained alone at Argelouse; but lonely as she was, she was aware of a kind of vast and ominous murmur bearing down on her, and she crouched like an animal that hears the hounds drawing near; she felt as if she had been brought down in a frantic race,—as if when near the goal, her hand already outstretched to clasp it, she had been suddenly dashed to the ground and both her legs broken. Her father had come one evening, and begged her to make a clean breast of it: all might yet be saved. Pédemay had agreed to withdraw his charge, and pretended to be no longer sure whether one of the prescriptions was not entirely from his hand. As for the aconitine, chloroform and digitaline, he could not have prescribed such heavy doses: but since no trace of them had been found in the patient’s blood....
Thérèse remembered the scene with her father, by Aunt Clara’s bed. The room was lit up by a wood fire; none of them wanted a lamp. In her monotonous childish voice she delivered a lesson, the lesson that she went over again and again during her sleepless nights. “I met a man on the road who did not come from Argelouse, and who said to me that since I was sending some one to Darquey’s, he hoped I would not mind sending his prescriptions too: he owed money to Darquey and did not want to go to the shop.... He promised to come to the house for the medicine, but he did not tell me his name nor his address....”
“Try to think of something else, Thérèse, for God’s sake, for the sake of the family: wretched woman, try to think of something else.”
Old Larroque repeated his adjurations with obstinate emphasis; the deaf woman, half raised upon her pillows, and feeling that a mortal menace was weighing on Thérèse, groaned out: “What is he saying to you? What do they want you to do? Why are they hurting you?”
She had found enough strength to smile at her aunt and hold her hand, while, like a little girl at her catechism, she recited: “It was a man on the road: it was too dark for me to see his face; he did not say what farm he belonged to....”
He had come another evening for the medicine; but unfortunately no one in the house had seen his face.